


Red Strings

by snowdrops



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, F/M, Gen, Kanda is nice, M/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-04 22:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1795234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowdrops/pseuds/snowdrops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They said that perhaps in Allen Walker’s deliverance of the world in 1837, God had let them be reborn in the 21st century to lead the life they had never gotten the chance to. But sometimes, fate works in ways beyond mortal comprehension, and some people will always find their way back to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Strings

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own D. Gray-man or any of the characters in this work of fiction. All of the characters are property of Hoshino Katsura.
> 
> -
> 
> This story was inspired by a dream I had about reincarnation, and of the red string of fate. I cannot remember much of the dream, but I woke up thinking that I would need to write a story about this topic. There is much reference to canonical material. The concept of cryptomnesia (when a forgotten memory returns without it being recognized as such) is also found in this story.

The koto strings hummed softly as elegant fingers plucked at them, a gentle melody flowing through the tranquil and peaceful Japanese mansion located atop a hill that overlooked the Takeo countryside. Long ebony hair tinged with cobalt was tied up, moving with the breeze.

The face of the performer was serious, eyes closed as he played melody after melody. The dreams had been more and more insistent these days, a series of images and resplendent landscapes that seemed far far away. He paused, right hand stretching out to grab an ink brush from the stand before him, writing down new notes and replacing others. He was a musician, a composer, writing feeling and emotions into songs. His new project was to write his dreams into music.

There was a knock on the door, then a gentle rustle as something – an envelope – was dropped through the mail slot in the door. Though not a Japanese feature, he had thought up the notion of having a mail slot instead of a separate box for collecting mail and had specially requested it to be built into his front door.

He stood up, crossing the few steps from his koto to the door and picking up the letter. There was a black and white crest in the corner of the envelope, one that he did not recognize. Beside it were the words _Dark Corbel School_. A furrow appeared between his eyebrows. He was quite sure this was not a Japanese school, but it appeared to have been sent from a Japanese address.

“Dark Corbel School  
14 Matzuki  
Tonosho, Chiba 037-9253  
Japan

Dear Mr. Kanda

On behalf of the Head of the Dark Corbel School, we would like to invite you to grace our halls with your presence at our annual Founder’s Day celebration on the 16th of June. The Dark Corbel School is an institution set up to guide young men and women in the pursuit of that which is right and good in the world, at the same time educating them with the knowledge that will enable them to do so…”

Kanda Yuu’s eyes skimmed quickly over the letter of invitation. It seemed like a reputable and respected school, and the amount they were offering for his performance was considerable as well. He pulled out his scheduler and discovered the stated day, in a fortnight, to be available. He was just beginning to pull out his writing materials when his eyes landed on the signature of the writer.

It was a round, loopy signature, unhurried and simple but clean and professional. Below it were the words “A. Walker, Principal of the Student Union”.

_Walker_ , Kanda turned the word over in his head. _So familiar, but why? Do I know him?_

No, he decided after a few minutes of raking through every single Western name he could think of. He did know a Walken, so he might have been slightly confused. Kanda brushed it off, and started to pen his letter of reply.

* * *

A single eye blinked groggily awake, turning to the source of its rude interruption from a perfectly good dream. “What is it?”

“Wake up, idiot! Class begins in half an hour and you’re still here out cold?!” His roommate shouted at the redhead who was now blearily moving around the messily arranged flat, still trying to get a hold on wakefulness.

“Aa, it was a good dream…” he mumbled as he dragged on a pair of jeans, unwashed since a week ago and gulped down a cup of piping hot coffee, barely feeling the burn as it hit the back of his throat.

“I’d wager,” his roommate grumbled. “I was so close to dumping a bucket of ice on you.”

“There was this really pretty girl in my dream,” the redhead said off-handedly as he grabbed his bag and slipped into his loafers. “She felt so real, long hair trailing behind her back and a smile that could make the angels cry.”

“Dreams tend to do that to you,” replied his roommate as he followed the latter out of the flat, locking the door and gate behind him. “They give you the deepest desires of your heart and make them intangible, reachable only in slumber.”

“She was different. She was real.” A pause. “I’ve met her before, but I haven’t met her yet.”

“Lavi, did you drink too much last night?” A tinge of concern laced the shorter boy’s voice.

“I didn’t drink at all,” Lavi said, kicking at some gravel.

There was silence, just footsteps on loose rock as they walked towards the gates of Calk Border School.

Lavi spent the time thinking about the girl with long hair.

* * *

_Green, green, green. All he could see of her was a singular green blinding light, a beacon of hope in the gray desolated war-torn landscape. He was shaking, arm clutching at a wound he could feel but not see. His eye, the good eye, was stinging from the sticky mixture of sweat and blood that had dripped into it._

_He could feel a tremor in the earth. It was just beginning, he realized absently. The end had barely started. The dark-skinned man was flying at her, black against green that shone so brightly, just like her spirit. He could not see much of their battle, just a whirl of kicks and blood and punches and butterflies, so beautiful but deadly, and the light was gone –_

_And so was he, speeding towards her, her upturned face turning to look at him, those eyes emptied and void. A hoarse, throaty cry. A name that he could not remember, he repeated over and over as he held her in his arms, the warmth of her body ebbing with every tear he shed from his eye. Long, long, long dark hair spilling in his hands like ink on a table._

It’s over, _he knew in his heart._ I’m going to die here. _A kiss on her lips, furious with the desperation and the agony and the knowledge that this was_ the end _. He was going to kill the dark-skinned bastard, last task of his life it may be. “I love you,” he heard someone whisper. Whether it was her, or him, he knew not, but she was cold and no longer there and she was_ gone _._

_He expected the punch that came from behind him as he bowed over her, anticipated the fighting technique the man would use. Many rounds of observation had allowed him to understand his fighting style, knowing what would counter well. He swung his weapon, a strike of anger, a strike for retribution, a strike of justice – and the man was falling, falling…had fallen._

_But as he watched his opponent fall, he felt himself do the same, the pain surging through him as he dragged himself back to her limp body, a bolt of lightning that struck the very core of his soul –_

* * *

Lavi started, feeling the shockwave slowly ebb from the depths of his body. He was panting, hands clutching at the edges of his lecture table as if he were holding on to it for his life.

“Bookman-san? Are you alright?” A worried voice travelled across to him, probably one of his classmates. He nodded noncommittally, even as he raised his hand to ask to be excused.

He ran the distance between the lecture theatre and the washroom, locking himself in a corner cubicle and leaning his forehead against the cool marble of the wall. He felt flushed, the last vestiges of the lightning bolt seemingly still embedded in his body and leaving him shaking.

It had been so real, he had known it was real. It had been real. She – she was his. He had loved her, but when? And why? And how? Who was she? The questions flooded him, even as he sank down on the toilet seat, head clutched in his clammy palms.

* * *

The high ponytail trademark of Kanda Yuu was in its proud position as he brought his luggage through the customs gate at Saga Airport. He was dressed in a simple polo shirt and jeans, as he had figured he would want something comfortable to wear for the flight to Narita Airport. He hoisted the small haversack and the hard shell container which held his koto onto the bridge, carefully bringing the box into the business class cabin. He was accustomed to travelling with his instrument, a fact emphasized by how he deftly slipped the container into the overhead compartment, having already loosened all the strings on the koto to reduce any chance of damage to the koto. It had been a gift from his father, who had instilled in him the pride of being a musician and the diligence required to master the koto from a young age.

As he settled down into his seat, he began to think about the dreams that he had been having recently. They had been occurring to him much more frequently, but the people and things that happened were always so familiar, so –

_Near_.

Part of his heart itched to know what the full story behind his dreams was. He had seen several faces in the dreams, and they were always the same. Kanda closed his eyes, leaning against the window. Just one day ago, he had dreamt of _vivid red hair, matted dully with blood as the body connected to the head fell limp, hand just barely, barely touching the long haired girl’s slender fingers_. Their facial features were hidden from him, their names always right on the tip of his tongue but beyond his reach. Kanda’s dream self made _a sound of pain as he felt a stab under his ribcage, a spiked candle jutting out of his body_ , and his eyes opened again, willing himself away from the excruciating image.

There was a click-clack of heels and a strangely familiar dark-haired girl walked down the aisle, her face looking up at the row numbers. She stopped at Kanda’s row and quickly placed her carry-on in the overhead compartment, before settling herself into the seat next to Kanda. All this, without so much as sparing the musician a second glance. Even so, he caught a glimpse of violet eyes and that was enough to make him _almost_ reach out for her, before giving himself a mental slap and stopping.

_I’m going crazy_ , he chided himself as he turned back to the window and closed his eyes.

* * *

His fingers plucked at imaginary koto strings, a habit he had developed when he was trying to keep himself calm. The strings pieced together a piercing music that only he could hear, engrossed in his reverie as he as. The images surrounded him – _a tall dark building, a smiling long-haired girl, a group of white coated figures (scientists?), a crimson mess of hair and – a silhouette_. He squinted, trying to focus on the figure, but it was cloaked in shadow. His fingers were playing endlessly, notes embedding themselves into his mind. Gentle pizzicato and glissando for the girl, haphazard strums for the scarlet hair, excited sukui-zume for the white scientists.

Then came the war, flashing lights and explosions everywhere. A strong uchi-zume for every explosion he could hear, changing to suri-zume with every act of destruction he could see. A slender katana sliced through the air, glinting a cold blue, finding its target in a white-haired male’s body – and he jolted awake, feeling a hand on his arm.

* * *

It was the girl, violet eyes full of apology for startling him out of his trance. “Would you like some lunch?” Her voice was clear and sweet, gentle and like balm to his shaking insides.

He shook his head, but accepted the cup of tea the air stewardess offered to him. Kanda was a man of few words, and was not hesitant to show it especially now that he was not sure his voice could be trusted. He sipped at the tea, breathing slowly.

Trying to ignore the fact that the girl beside him looked just like the girl in his dreams.

* * *

She watched him as his eyes closed once again, face guarded and shut off from the world. The moment she had woken him up, the fleeting play of emotions across his face had been nothing short of heart wrenching. The expression of longing deep in his dark eyes made him look surprisingly vulnerable, much more vulnerable than she had ever seen him.

Because she was sure he was Kanda, Kanda Yuu, and she knew – she had found him at last.

* * *

The flight was a short one, and Kanda was up an hour before they were to land. His fingers were still moving of their own accord, fingering imagined strings as he gazed out of the window at the sky. It was a cerulean blue, dotted by specks of white clouds.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he heard the voice from his right. That same gentle and sweet voice, which he had heard earlier – and had heard so, so long before. “It’s just like that one day.”

He turned to stare at her, his mind conjuring an image of the girl and … him? _A sky just like the one he was looking up at. An old-fashioned horse carriage, him in a tuxedo and her in a ballgown. She was barely recognizable, looking more like a queen from a faraway land than the girl he knew her to be. Two other shadows inside the carriage with them, but he could not see who. Stepping out into what looked like a large church, walking down a huge corridor with giant chandeliers and French windows. Feeling the weight of a sword –_ his sword _– pressed against his thigh_ , and it all slipped into place.

“The assault on the Noahs’ party?” He whispered, mouth dry. “The day we went in disguised as their guests and raided their mansion.”

She nodded, eyes closed in recollection. “The worst kind of clothing to have to fight in, but nii-san refused to let me wear the uniform underneath.”

Kanda made a noise in the back of his throat. “Well, it was _him_ after all.”

“I’ve finally found you, Kanda. After so long.”

“Hn.”

* * *

“Oi, Lenalee,” Kanda called as they made their way to the luggage belt. “Where are you heading to now?”

Dark hair whipped around, bright eyes looking at him. “I’m heading to Dark Corbel the day after tomorrow for their Founders’ Day celebration but before that I’m just going to spend the time sightseeing.”

Kanda watched her carefully. She was so different, yet so similar to the Lenalee he could remember. “I’m going to Dark Corbel as well. Why are you going there?”

“I’m a performer, Kanda,” she smiled. “I’m going to be dancing.”

_Dancing_. It made sense to Kanda all of a sudden. Lenalee was a dancer, of course she was. Even back during their Exorcist days, she had been made and built to be a dancer, but fate had dictated otherwise. Right now, without the weight of the Akuma and the Noah, it would make sense that she could follow the path that she was meant to go.

“I’m going to see you then, since I’m performing too. I’m playing Haru no Umi on the koto.”

It was Lenalee’s jaw that dropped this time. “K-Koto? What?”

“I am a performer, Lenalee. I’m no longer the swordsman you remember me to be.”

“But the _koto_?!” Lenalee was standing in front of him now, still slightly shorter than him despite the heels she was wearing.

Kanda gave her a withering look. “Is there something wrong with me playing a koto?”

Lenalee shook her head. “It’s just … The koto is such a graceful instrument and I would never have been able to imagine you playing it.”

“Are you implying that I am not graceful?” Kanda interrupted and Lenalee paused, tensing. Despite how he appeared to have become a much more polite man than the surly one he used to be, she was sure that somewhere deep in his soul there was still a remnant of the past Kanda she had known.

“N-No, Kanda! I didn’t mean it like-“ her sentence was cut off by a tug at the edges of his lips, which escalated quickly enough into a chuckle, then a laugh. Lenalee was speechless again. Apparently reincarnation had granted him more of a sense of humor than the one he had previously.

She beamed and wrapped her arms around him, feeling how much like _home_ he felt. Even though… _home_ was now smaller than it was before.

All the more reason for her to find all of them, she reasoned.

* * *

Lavi was writing in his journal, room lit by the fluorescent overhead lights. He was recording down all his dreams, in an obsessive urge to make sense of them. The recurrent theme in them seemed to be death and fighting for justice, but there were the occasional scenes that took place in a room that looked to be a library, with the smell of old parchment and ink all around. It was these scenes that confused him the most, as he could not for the life of him understand why there was so much writing involved in a dream that appeared to have a mostly combat-driven background.

He could also guess that he, whoever _he_ was, was in love with the dark-haired girl he had held during her dying breaths. To his frustration, there were little to no dreams of her besides those on battlefields of one sort or another, and all he had gleaned to date was that she had long hair which was usually tied into pigtails, and he called her “Lena”. At one point, the long hair had been replaced by a boyish cut but had eventually grown back out. Everything else about her was obscured, save her sparkling violet eyes which were always turned away from him.

She made him feel alive even in those dreams, Lavi had realized. Even when he had no idea who she was.

* * *

_Lavi saw him first, a pale figure dressed in white. A giant sword clutched in one hand, cape billowing behind him. A slender, dark-skinned male, similar to the one Lavi’s dream self killed, walking up to him. The sound of a sword being, and a fast-paced exchange of parries and blows followed. Lavi could see snow white hair and a hint of red where the figure’s eyes should be. Everything else was shadow, save the fight between dark and light._

_The scene changed and he was in a chair, chained. He could not see, his good eye blindfolded. He could feel the plush cushions of the chair, could smell acrid smoke._ Incense _, his brain supplied helpfully. He could hear a gentle thudding on the carpeted floor, and a hurried whisper in his ear. “Lavi, Lavi, Lavi!”_

_It was a female voice._ Her _. It was like the tinkling of bells, like the sound of flowers’ first bloom. It was like a fire ignited in his heart, a spark shining in the fathomless pits of dark. “Lavi,” she whispered. There was a tinge of panic in it._

_He tilted his head back in acknowledgement, knowing that he could not speak for fear of being discovered by his captor. She let out a relieved sigh, and he could feel cold steel as it cut at the bonds that held him shackled to the chair. “Come.”_

_“Eyes,” he hissed. She paused for a millisecond, then the cloth that blinded his eye fell apart. And suddenly he could_ see _, because his captor had removed his eyepatch, and now he could see everything, and it hurt, it hurt to see how time had aged her, and he could see the very depths of everything –_

_He hurriedly fastened the cloth into a makeshift blindfold for his right eye. The room was dark, with light streaming in from a single window. There was a table next to the chair he had been sitting on, an unlit but used candle sitting on it. His eye drifted to her. She was dressed in her uniform, a black jacket and a short skirt. She was barefoot besides a pair of blood-red anklets, but seemed to think nothing of it. Her head was cocked to a side, listening. Without warning, she straightened and he tensed._

_“He is coming,” she warned. Her violet eyes were ablaze, and he suddenly realized how helpless he was at the moment without his weapon. She turned to him, a whisper in his ear. “Stay with me, Lavi. I’ll protect you.”_

_He could not help shaking his head at how wrong it was, how he should be the one saying that and not her. “Bookman has your weapon, Lavi. You’ll get it once we get back.”_

_The door slammed open, a dark-clad figure in the doorway. “A-ha! Exorcists! What a surrrrrprise!” The voice was sickly sweet, almost like a nauseating medicine. “Now where do you think you are going with Bookman Junior here, little princess?”_

_Lavi had no space for reaction, the girl had grabbed him before he realized what was going on and they were soaring, red heels and green energy surrounding them bringing them higher and higher. He closed his eyes, thinking they would hit the ceiling and bracing himself for the impact but as he opened them all he saw was open sky and_ how had they escaped _?_

_He looked down, and saw a crater-sized hole in the roof below them. He had not even felt the impact of the kick, was that how powerful she was?_

_She did not speak, speeding across the dark night sky. Rooftops and buildings rushed past them as she led them in a midnight adventure, her arm clutching him close. He could feel her warmth, her humanity, her fear, her worry; he could feel her. He had no time to appreciate it though, as she launched into a steep dive towards the street._

_They skidded to a stop, her red heels raking up dust and he suddenly realized how surreal this all was. A quick check of their surroundings revealed that they were in a small English town, standing right before an inn. She tugged at him and they entered the inn, Lavi reveling in the warm light of the oil lamps._

_There was a small flight of stairs which the girl climbed, Lavi following close behind, unsure what to do. She reached a private landing, separated from the rest of the inn by a glass panel and a lock. She slipped a key out of her pocket (Lavi had no idea where she managed to find space for a pocket, skimpy as her uniform was) and unlocked the panel, before entering the landing and ushering Lavi to join her._

_After she had placed the panel back into its locked position, she leaned against the wall. Lavi stole a glance at her. She looked worn, her face haggard and tired. Traces of perspiration dotted her face and neck, and there was some dried blood by her mouth. Before realizing what he was doing, Lavi had reached out to wipe the blood away. He was therefore startled when she turned on him, her body weight pushing him against the wall._

_“You, Lavi Bookman, are an absolute idiot,” she muttered darkly. “What in the world were you thinking of, getting yourself kidnapped like that?”_

_He was raising his hands in absolute surrender, feeling the killing intent in her gaze before she suddenly sagged against him, and his arms instead instinctively wrapped around her. “I’m sorry, Lena.”_

_She shook her head, and he could feel heat seeping through the front of his shirt. She was crying, clutching at him. “I thought – I thought I’d lost you forever,” she whispered. “I thought I wouldn’t ever get to – to see you ever again.”_

_What could he say? Lavi was no expert when it came to emotions, so all he could do was to thread his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp until she calmed down and straightened back up._

_“Come, they are waiting,” she said at last, leading him down the hallway until they reached a large wooden door. She opened the door and he saw three other figures, clad similarly to her._ He opened his mouth to speak, but then there was a strong tug on his arm and he was awake, having fallen to the floor.

* * *

 _”They are waiting”_ was what she had said. Who were _they_? Were _they_ the three figures he had seen in the room? It was almost like déjà vu, the way he had looked into her eyes. He had known her, and he had likely known the people she had been referring to.

But who were they?

Lavi chewed on the end of his pen, mind far away from the lecture he was attending.

“A penny for your thoughts?” a voice cut through his train of thoughts and he paused the chewing to look hard at the offender.

It was his roommate. As always.

“Nothing, just thinking.”

“It’s those dreams, right?” Lavi whipped around from where his gaze had drifted away. “I can tell, Lavi. I see how your head is perpetually stuck up in dreamland these days.

“You shout quite a bit sometimes, you know? I have heard you talking in the middle of your sleep, talking about something called Inosensu? I never quite get you Japanese people and your pronunciation…” His roommate rambled on, but Lavi’s mind was fixated on that one word.

_Inosensu_. _Innocence_. His brain conjured up a substance past tangibility. He grasped on to them, but all of them slipped past his fingers, leaving him with the image of a small hammer. An iron hammer, capable of being holstered on a pair of pants.

A hammer was a weapon, Lavi thought. This … _Innocence_ was a weapon. Against what?

Lavi palmed his forehead in frustration. All he had were questions and no answers.

“I’m really tired,” he mumbled in way of an excuse when his roommate, who was sitting next to him in the lecture theatre, gave him a questioning look.

“You should go on a trip, Lavi.”

“A trip? It is the _middle of the semester_ , how am I supposed to travel anywhere? Besides, I’m broke.”

An upward quirk of his roommate’s lips set alarms ringing all over Lavi’s head. “Ah, but what about an _educational cultural exposure trip_?”

* * *

Lavi cursed everything that his roommate was made up of as he packed a small backpack with his essential items. How he had been talked into taking his roommate’s place on a trip to visit their sister school Dark Corbel and observe their Founder’s Day celebration was beyond his understanding. It was a five day, all-expenses-paid visit, but the catch was for every student on the trip to write a five page reflection for submission to the respective Heads of both schools. Lavi _hated_ writing reflections, even though he was a good writer. He shook his head in slight annoyance, but had to admit that it would be a good way of escaping the mundane routine of lectures and tutorials without repercussion.

Lavi picked up his usual orange scarf, and placed it in his backpack. It was old and worn, slightly threadbare in some corners but he used it every day out of habit. He had bought it with his first pay when he was fresh out of high school, together with a green bandana to keep his hair out of his eyes. After entering Calk Border though, he had dropped the bandana, preferring instead to just wear the scarf and let his red hair down, figuratively and literally.

* * *

The day of the trip loomed bright and sunny, azure sky and miles of lush countryside on all sides. The Dark Corbel School was in Tonosho, quite a distance from Calk Border which was in Tako. They were slated to arrive by coach two days before the actual celebration. The schools had arranged for the visitors to stay in the Dark Corbel dormitories alongside the regular students, so there was no need for lodging fees. It would also be a chance for them to explore the school premises and interact with the student body, instead of being cooped up in a hotel room with curfews that limited any shopping or entertainment.

At least, that was what was supposed to happen.

As luck would have it, the coach that was transporting the Calk Border students broke down before even reaching Dark Corbel. The students and teachers, left with no choice, trekked towards a small quaint town down the main road that was signposted as Sawara. The sun was already setting, casting an orange glow over the town. As they approached the town, a collective sound of amazement rippled across the group. It was a journey backwards in time, with preserved traditional residences and shophouses that seemed to date back to centuries before.

“Sawara was a town that prospered during the Edo period,” one of the history teachers who was chaperoning the students said as she walked with them over one of the bridges spanning the large central canal. “They used to call it Little Edo.”

“Huh,” Lavi muttered. It was a sight to behold, with boats travelling along the canal carrying wide-eyed foreigners as the local tour guides pointed out specific buildings to them. The teacher was asking a local for any potential inns or hotels where their group of twenty would be able to stay for the night.

Eventually, they were pointed to a small inn, the _Kinoshita Ryokan_ and each given a room to stay. Lavi was lucky enough to find himself in a single room, as there was an odd number of males on the trip. He drank in the rustic setting, with traditional tatami mats and a simple futon placed on the floor. It was all very minimalistic, unlike what they normally experienced in the city’s posh hotels.

Walking to the sliding door that led to the balcony of his room, he slid it open to find a light breeze blowing outside. The moon was high in the sky by this time, seeing how long it had taken for them to settle down and get a briefing on what to expect the next day. As he leaned on the balustrade of the balcony, looking up at the moon, a strange feeling of tranquility washed over him.

The afterimage of an Ace of Spades flashed suddenly in his mind’s eye, the ink black as midnight. Lavi blinked, and it was gone.

Determining that he was not quite ready to sleep, Lavi decided to take a stroll through the ryokan. Experience had taught him that most guest houses had some form of a library or place for him to find books of all kinds. As such he re-entered his room, closing the balcony door behind him. Slipping on his shoes, he left his room and found himself in a corridor which opened out to several other doors like the one he had just closed. It would not be a good thing if he accidentally opened somebody’s room, so he padded softly down to the entrance hall of the inn. The registration counter was open, manned by the ryokan owner, and he quickly found himself directed to a secluded room on the first floor which was named the _Library_.

Lavi had always been an avid reader, finding solace in words. More often than not, he could be found sleeping with a book laid out before him. Although it always led to him having cramps in the oddest of places, he persisted with the habit and it had become second nature to him to seek out places with books.  
  
The library was not large, more like a private collection of the ryokan owner. Many of the books were dusty and yellowed with time. Scanning the books, a black colored book caught his attention. On the spine was a curious white cross, resembling the Rose Cross. There was no title stated, but it looked compelling enough for Lavi to pull it out of its position gingerly.

It was a journal, written in old fashioned Japanese. It was a record of a curious Hidden War, of a secret Organization that aimed to eliminate the Clan of Noah during the Edo period. This war took place behind the backs of the Tokugawa shogunate, unbeknownst to the leaders of the time and the general populace.

The entries were dated throughout the early 1800s, all written in third person although it was obvious that the writer was involved in the war. The Clan of Noah was able to command an army of monsters, made of human souls called back by “The Earl” and subjugate to his will. From what he could deduce, this “Earl” was the leader of the Noah Clan and the main reason for the war in the first place. Lavi read on, trying to piece together the background of the journal. There were pages that were blotted or blood-stained, and Lavi shuddered at the thought of whose blood it was and how it had ended up on the journal.

Or even how this journal had survived up to the present day.

Looking at his wristwatch, he realized that it was nearly three in the morning and he would have no way of finding out what exactly happened at the end of the war. Flipping to the last entry, dated _3 February 1837_ , his eyes noted how the handwriting was scribbled and messy – almost panicked, he thought. _The battle comes to its climax, and the Exorcists of the Black Order take refuge in Sawara, their final cantonment. The Noah Clan have declared war to the death, wishing to destroy the last shards of Innocence. The will of the Black Order is now put to the test and their ability to defend the remainder of humanity from a second Great Flood will be determined by the outcome of the War. The Exorcists are willing to sacrifice everything to fulfill this cause, even at the cost of their own lives. This journal has been maintained by Bookman Junior, the 49 th Alias. _

“Bookman Junior?” Lavi whispered to himself, befuddled. He would have to ask Gramps about this when he went back to visit. It was curious that it should be one of his own clan who wrote this journal, though the line between fact and fiction seemed to be blurred.

Taking the journal, he fought the urge to sneak it out. Lavi Bookman was a mischievous student, but he was not dishonest. Instead, he switched off the light in the library and headed back to the lobby for the second time that night, intent on achieving his objective.

Lavi was nothing if charming, and by the end of the chat he had with the owner, he had managed to persuade her into letting him keep the book since it was of no importance to her or any of the staff. He felt an odd sense of triumph as he trudged back up to his room to catch what few hours of sleep he could.

He was out cold the moment his head hit the futon.

* * *

The Dark Corbel auditorium was large but empty with only two figures clothed in black standing near the stage. Kanda and Lenalee were the only two invited guests for the celebrations and thus were able to hold rehearsals in the morning and afternoon when the student performers were all at class. Kanda had already accustomed himself to the acoustics in the auditorium (“Not fantastic, but decent enough for a school,” he remarked) and had just critiqued Lenalee on her dance as the stage was much wider than what she had rehearsed for.

The unanimous decision to take a break was reached by the two of them, having been rehearsing and perfecting their respective pieces continuously for nearly two hours. Staying in the same hotel for two nights had not brought them any closer to the answers they both sought, though Kanda gathered that Lenalee had regained her memories before he had. At the thought, he settled on broaching the subject of their shared past.

“Have you found anyone else?” he asked, abruptly shattering the silence. Lenalee did not need to ask to know what he meant.

She shook her head sadly. “I haven’t been able to find nii-san. In this life I am an only child, with a loving family. My gut tells me that nii-san might be in Shanghai, but I have not had the chance to visit China yet.”

“You’ll take forever to search Shanghai, let alone the rest of China,” Kanda said. He was as straightforward as he always had been, Lenalee thought to herself.

“I have to try, Kanda. You know I have to.”

“I know you will, no matter what I say,” the edges of his mouth curved into a small smirk. “If you ever decide to go on your dangerous venture to reclaim your brother, who hopefully is less dangerous in this life, count me in.”

“You haven’t changed at all,” her lips widened into a smile. “Still the same old Kanda. Just a bit nicer.”

“Only a bit?”

Lenalee had no time to reply when the door of the auditorium was opened with a great slam and a dark shadow appeared in the doorway. “What in the -“ Kanda jumped to his feet, ready to give the intruder an earful of colorful insults. The students had been specifically instructed to keep away from the auditorium for the time they were going to be here, and whether rehearsal or not, he did not appreciate his conversation being so rudely interrupted.

He was just about to storm to the offender and kick him out when the stranger looked up, a clear green eye seeming to pierce the very depths of his soul. Lenalee watched in trepidation as the stranger walked towards them, looking absolutely lost. As he exited the shadows into full view of both the performers, he stopped short.

* * *

“Lena,” he whispered. The word was out of his mouth before he even realized he was thinking it. He had opened the grand door of the auditorium, totally unaware that they had earlier been told to not enter the auditorium during the tour of the school. After all, he had been in a dazed state following the sleep debt he had accumulated the day before. He had not expected to be looking straight at a waking dream, at cascading long hair and violet eyes full of memory.

She stared at him, eyes widening. It was him. She had never expected that she would see him here, in this empty auditorium, stage behind her and an open door behind him. It took barely a fraction of a second for her to cross the distance between them, throwing caution to the wind and herself onto him.

Maybe this was what redemption felt like, Lavi thought as he felt her clutch him as though her life depended on it. Maybe this was forgiveness.

He wrapped his arms around her, the way he knew he used to.

* * *

 

“Oi, usagi,” was Kanda’s way of greeting the redhead. At the sound of his voice, Lavi saw a sequence of events reel through his head. Kanda holding a sword to his neck, Kanda smirking as he cut down a dark-skinned enemy (the _Noah_ Maashiima, his brain helpfully supplied), Kanda and his tattoo, black tendrils that spread across his entire body as he fought. 

His mouth opened in silent realization. _He_ was the one who had written in the journal, _he_ had been involved in the Holy War, _he_ was an Exorcist and they were his brother and sister in arms. _He_ had been Bookman Junior, the 49th Alias and an Exorcist, _he_ had been a warrior for the cause.

Lavi grinned, letting a single word fall from his lips.

“Yuu.”

Following which he doubled over, having been punched in the gut by said person. Since when had Kanda been so close to him in proximity?

_Some things never change_ , Lenalee beamed.

* * *

 

“So, have we found the moyashi?” Lavi asked as he sprawled on one of the seats in the front row. The other two had brought him up to speed on all that they had discussed over the course of the past few days.

His companions were suddenly silent, and he looked over at them. A myriad of emotions flashed on Lenalee’s face; she had always been easy to read.

“C’mon, spit it out. I know you have some leads on him.”

“We think that he’s the president of the Student Union here,” Kanda said.

Lavi choked on his water. “President? _Moyashi_? What?”

Lenalee nodded, clapping Lavi on the back. “Our invitation letters were penned by one A. Walker, and both Kanda and I have the gut feeling that it is Allen. We haven’t seen him at all though, our rehearsals so far have all either been closed door or overseen by the vice-president of the Union.”

* * *

 

There was a knock on Lavi’s door. He had been assigned a single room, as before in Sawara, and he was appreciating the privacy as he leafed through the pages of the journal that his past self had written. Now that he knew the truth, he could see the subtle similarities between the calligraphy he used then and now. Sighing, he placed the bookmark between the pages and closed the book before hiding it under his pillow.

“Come in.”

Kanda’s silhouette appeared at the doorway, and Lavi blinked. He was trying to get used to this _nice_ Kanda, but it was rather difficult when his photographic memory could relay to him every single time he had been threatened by death at the tip of Mugen. After the shock of seeing Kanda and Lenalee, the memories of his past life had spilt out like a glass of water and he was still trying to wrap his head around having two lives worth of memories.

“Yuu?”

“Don’t call me that, idiot usagi.”

“Why are you here?”

“I had questions,” Kanda’s reply was as short as ever.

“Fire away then,” Lavi said as he patted the space on his bed next to him, stretching out his legs under the pristine white blanket.

“I – Do you remember anything at all? Of the war?”

A gentle furrow appeared between Lavi’s brows. “I remember… bits and pieces. Some snapshots of various things, but I don’t know the full picture if that’s what you’re asking me. I know only what I experienced on the battlefield.”

“Then do you know how it ended?”

“The war? No.” Lavi frowned in concentration, raking through all the dreams that he had had before remembering his personal journal and pulling it out from his bag. After a few frantic flips, he shook his head. “No. All the dreams – visions – that I had of the war were of my own battle with Tyki Mikk.” It felt so much better now that he could place the names to the faces and figures. “My last memory was of me reaching out for Lenalee, and _that_ particular memory made me have a seizure in the middle of a Psychology lecture.”

Kanda willed himself to ignore the fact that this meant he had seen Lavi’s last living moments. Steeling his face, he spoke again. “I’d hoped you would know.”

“Unfortunately, I died before the war ended,” Lavi reminded him, a bit too nonchalantly. “But I guess we emerged victorious since there’s no more talk of Innocence or of the Noah Clan in our lives now. Maybe this was God’s way of repaying us our duty as Exorcists? A new chance for life?”

“Perhaps.”

“Do you remember anything?” Lavi prodded. “Knowing you, you should have.”

“I … had dreams too. They started a few months ago, but became more regular this past month. I remember defending the General, because that bitch Road Kamelot insisted on attacking him instead of me. I faintly remember getting struck by her and killing her, but my last memory is of me stabbing the moyashi with Mugen. I cannot remember why, but I think it had to do with the Fourteenth.”

“The Fourteenth, huh,” curiosity laced Lavi’s voice. “Say, Yuu,” ignoring the way Kanda fought the urge to punch him again, “Did you ever consider that since we got sent back here, maybe _Alma_ is too?”

Kanda stiffened. How long had it been since he had heard Alma’s name? _A lifetime ago_ , his inner voice said. “The… thought never occurred to me,” he whispered.

Lavi looked at Kanda. A lifetime of observing people, whether as Bookman or as a normal human, had allowed him the ability of reading even the most isolated people. The look in Kanda’s eyes – it was one of longing, the distant and whimsical gaze of one who had regained hope where previously there was none.

* * *

 

“Allen!” the brown head of hair turned around at the call. A girl, dressed in the black and white uniform of Dark Corbel, was waving at him as she ran towards him. Her ponytail was swaying with the movement of her body, and pinned at the collar of her uniform was a silver badge that symbolized her affiliation to the Student Union.

“What is it, Kerina?” He asked as she caught up to him.

“I’ve been looking for you _all week_! Where have you been?” Not leaving him a chance to reply, Kerina continued her tirade. “The guest performers for Founder’s Day have arrived, and the full dress rehearsal is today. Are you going to attend? You’ve missed all the other rehearsals thus far because you have been missing!”

“Whoa there, cool down. I’ve been… caught up with Union paperwork, and I’m actually supposed to meet with Mrs. Lander to discuss the school carnival later.”

Kerina made a frustrated sound and huffed. “Screw Mrs. Lander, Founder’s Day is just _tomorrow_. You have to sit in for the rehearsal! I’ve been covering for you thus far but it doesn’t leave a good impression on the guests if you don’t show your face.”

Allen was quiet for a moment, then he beamed. “Very well, Kerina, I’ll make the meeting short. You don’t have to sit in for me today, I’ll go in once I finish everything.”

Kerina gave him a quick smile, then turned to leave. “It gets quite dark in there, try not to fall asleep.”

* * *

 

Kerina’s advice was lost on Allen. The student performers were on stage when he arrived in the auditorium, and he found his attention drifting elsewhere. There were piles of forms for him to veto and sign back in the Union Room, and they had run into some issues with the caterer in charge of the buffet for Sea Day performances. It was all so overwhelming and…. The auditorium was wonderfully dim….

* * *

 

Kanda was dressed in a navy blue kimono which complemented his hair well. As the emcee announced his name, he walked out on stage with the poise and grace of a well-versed musician. He had insisted on carrying his koto out with him from backstage, but his request had been shot down by the members of the Student Union. It was but a small issue, so he let it go. As he sat down before his instrument, touching it lightly to test the tension of the strings, he gazed out into the audience. A bright light was shining at him, and he could not see much past the first few rows.

It was his stage, and he was in his element. Kanda raised his fingers, shaping them into an arch, and began to play.

* * *

 

Allen was woken up rudely from his short nap by the sudden loud strum of strings that resounded in the auditorium. He would have been annoyed if not for the fact that it _was_ his fault that he was sleeping in the first place, and instead turned his attention to the front. This must be the renowned koto player, Kanda Yuu, whom he had not expected to accept the invitation for this performance.

His eyes went to the performer on stage. Kanda was a strikingly attractive man, his long fingers becoming one with the instrument and forming notes that struck at his heartstrings. The way his eyes focused on the strings, body and soul all but immersed in the music, brought to Allen’s mind dark eyes that were filled with killing intent. Allen waved it off as a figment of his imagination; maybe that was what the music was supposed to convey to the audience. Then again, he was not that much a musician in the first place.

Kanda’s performance ended way too fast for Allen’s liking, as he found himself admiring the statuesque beauty of the other male and was reluctant to see him leave the stage. The emcee introduced the next performer as “Lenalee Lee, the Dancing Crystal” and Allen felt a wave of déjà vu hit him. A barren landscape, dust just barely fading from view and bloodstains on the ground, appeared before him. As he watched her dance, the flowing movements of her lithe body melded into deceptively powerful footwork, into soaring green light in the midst of battle. Here, Allen stopped himself. _What battle?_ He had to be really sleep deprived if he was beginning to hallucinate.

Lenalee’s dance was named The Steps toward Redemption, and he could feel in every step she made the choice between darkness and light, between salvation and damnation. And in the darkness of the auditorium, he could see seven crosses on his ( _his?_ ) forehead, a black left hand holding a sword. He could see white hair, purer than snow, tinged with blood.

“Maybe I should be a dancer,” he thought to himself. It was the first time he had been able to make any sense out of watching a dance, and it felt… surreal. Almost like he was in another world.

Then it was over, and Lenalee had bowed backstage. He had to admit that she was a pretty and charming girl, though he had only seen her for a matter of minutes. The lights came back on, and the few spectators, all members of the Union, began to leave. Allen had just begun to move to do the same, wanting to savor the feeling of not having to rush anywhere for once, when from the backstage a cheeky voice shouted “ _Yuu!”_ The voice echoed in his mind, and he sank back into his chair watching _himself_ call the same name in the darkness of the battlefield.

It was like a reservoir that had been suddenly undammed. The memories hit him like a tidal wave as he watched _Kanda – for it was Kanda, wielding Mugen like an extension of his own arm - defending his General up to the very death. Never mind that he himself was bearing a General’s insignia, but he stood back to back with Tiedoll, parrying and taking blows he was not supposed to take with a deadly grace. Road laughed with glee as Kanda glared at her. A murmured incantation, and there was a red bolt of light. This must be the forbidden Seventh Seal, the one that ensured certain death at the cost of one’s own life. Kanda had told him about it, just once. The sword found its way into Road’s body, and her grin split into two like a cracked porcelain doll._

_At that, Allen could feel Neah in him stir, anger against both the Earl and Innocence palpable. He fought, tried to hold his ground, regain control over his body, but Neah was strong. Just as he was becoming overwhelmed, a cold sword embedded itself in his chest._

_Neah was gone. He looked over, just in time to see a triumphant grin on Kanda’s face as the swordsman closed his eyes and fell. The tendrils from his tattoo had spread to encircle his body, and he did not get up._

_Allen saw the Earl descend before him, his mind and conscience lost to rage. It was the end, the end of everything. The Innocence and the Earl have taken everything, he thought to himself. He would bring it all to its rightful end. Crown Grande, he calls. His trump card, the one he had discovered barely a few months ago. He had finally mastered it, and he knew it. The cape left his body, leaving the tattered remains of his uniform behind. It draped over the Earl, an impenetrable layer; next was the Sword, he drew it and it gleamed a cold cold blue, the color of Mugen when light glinted off it. Sharper than any obsidian blade ever crafted by man, the blade moved as though of its own accord, drawn towards the cape that now held the Earl prisoner. It took one hit, and the Earl was fading, and so was he. He could see everyone– Kanda, Lavi, Lenalee, Komui, Reever, Link – and they were calling for him, hands reaching for him. He reached for, grasped Kanda’s hand and they were gone._

Allen bolted back into consciousness, holding his head in his hands. The visions were gone, but the memories stayed. He was the Destroyer of Time, he was the Fourteenth Noah. He was the Accommodator, an Apostle of God. But above all that he was Allen Walker, the Exorcist.

“Ha! I thought you’d never get around to it,” the whoop came from somewhere to his right as he slowly lowered his hands. There was a redheaded maniac laughing, a sound of comfort and of nostalgia. “Also, nice brown hair. It was a waste, last life you led.”

“I’m back,” Allen said. “I’m back.”

“Took you long enough, midget moyashi.”

“I am _not_ a moyashi! Bakanda!”

“Are you fated to haunt me in every single life you lead?”

“That’s not the point, moron!”

“Do you _have_ to get into a fight every time you first meet?” Lenalee’s irate voice cut in and they finally shut up.

* * *

 

They said that perhaps in Allen Walker’s deliverance of the world in 1837, God had let them be reborn in the 21st century to lead the life they had never gotten the chance to. Allen himself felt that it was simply God’s reward for being his Apostles, and that they had come back together was proof that they had been bonded past death in their defense of the world. There were some knots that could not be undone, only brought about by blood and tears. They had regained their memories, but they were now normal human beings with two lifetimes of experience and two lifetimes of friendship.

As he looped a casual arm around Kanda’s waist and watched Lavi and Lenalee bicker over something inconsequential, noting with amusement and slight worry that one lifetime ago the roles had been exactly the opposite, he concluded that the red strings of fate would always come together, no matter what lay between them.

That, excepting his Union paperwork, as a crowd of Union members came chasing after him to hound him for overdue forms.

**Author's Note:**

> I have used the following websites for research and reference purposes.  
> Pro Musica Nipponia - for the koto playing styles of sukui-zume, suri-zume and uchi-zume that Kanda uses in his dreamscape.  
> Japan Guide (dot)com - for the introduction to Sawara. Much of what is described of Sawara is from Japan Guide.  
> Virtual Tourist - for the information that Kinoshita Ryokan is a real ryokan in Sawara  
> D. Gray-man Wikia - for the detailed explanations and descriptions of almost everything in canon  
> Wikipedia - for everything else, especially for location settings (Takeo, Saga as well as Tonosho and Tako in Chiba Prefecture, Narita are all real places).
> 
> Most of all, thank you for reading all 9000 words of this story and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it over the course of 4 days.


End file.
